


Every Little Thing

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 08:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: “Mind?” Aziraphale frowned. “Why would I mind?”Crowley waved a hand in the air, as if it should be obvious. “Most people tend to be a bit wary of a great big snake lurking around.”That, as Crowley soon comes to learn, doesn't apply to everybody.





	Every Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just soft for snek!Crowley getting all the love he deserves.

Eyes never leaving the page, Aziraphale reached for his cocoa, hand finding the mug by instinct alone, only to discover it had once again grown cold. Disappointed, he was debating whether to miracle it warm or make a fresh mug when the liquid began to steam with renewed heat.

“Oh!”

He had quite forgotten that Crowley was here. (Well, not _forgotten_ exactly, rather allowed himself to become so absorbed by his latest acquisition that he had let the world around him fade.) In addition, the demon had been uncharacteristically quiet, not making a nuisance of himself as was more often the case.

Currently sprawled in an armchair he had dragged over to the window (perfectly positioned to catch the sunlight slanting through the glass) Crowley had his long legs flung over one of the arms, his head resting atop the other, arms spread wide; it was a position that looked ridiculously uncomfortable, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but Crowley seemed content enough.

Although… 

Seeing that slender body slung sinuously across the (rather antique and expensive) piece of furniture, Aziraphale began to wonder if he would not be even more comfortable if he were to take a form far more suited to dramatic draping.

"Dear boy, if it would be more comfortable, you can always… you know. If you want."

Crowley tipped his head back over the arm of the chair to cast an upside-down expression of bafflement at Aziraphale. His sunglasses hid his eyes (quite regrettably in Aziraphale’s opinion) but the crease between his brows communicated his confusion quite eloquently.

“You’re not making any sense, angel.”

“Well, I thought you might… that is to say…” Aziraphale stammered to a halt, unsure if this was the sort of thing one should suggest. Perhaps it would be impolite to broach the subject, especially when Crowley had never seemed particularly inclined… 

Crowley grew impatient with Aziraphale’s dithering, the roll of his eyes hidden behind tinted lenses but palpable. “Spit it out.”

“If you would like to lounge in the sun in your serpent form, you are welcome to do so.”

Crowley jerked upright, twisting in his seat to stare at Aziraphale, one brow arched above his shades.

“You…” It wasn’t often Crowley found himself speechless, but he definitely hadn’t been expecting _that_. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind?” Aziraphale frowned. “Why would I mind?”

Crowley waved a hand in the air, as if it should be obvious. “Most people tend to be a bit wary of a great big snake lurking around.”

Aziraphale prickled, mildly affronted at the implication that he should be bothered by Crowley’s presence. But there was a vulnerability behind Crowley’s words that suggested his hesitation stemmed from a fear of rejection (although he would never admit to such a thing).

A smile of understanding softened his face. “I’m not ‘most people’, am I?”

The truth of that statement slammed into Crowley, stealing the breath he didn’t need. Aziraphale was… well. He was the one who had been by Crowley’s side since this world began, the one who had seen the good in him (as much as he’d tried to deny it), accepted his failings, fought for him, saved his life, stuck by him even when he’d insisted on being a massive prick. He had weathered all that (and the almost-end of the world) and he was still here, still happy to have Crowley hanging around.

Still looking at him as if he were truly worth something.

Unable to quite process that, Crowley merely gaped at him.

“My dear, I will love you in whatever form you choose to take. Please don’t ever think you have to hide yourself from me.”

Crowley’s face did something complicated, like it wasn’t entirely sure how to express whatever emotion the demon was feeling, and rather than attempt to tame it into something that might be recognisable, he blinked.

As Aziraphale watched, Crowley’s form flickered, blurred, seemed to flow like liquid and pour down into the seat of his chair. Aziraphale craned his neck, but could make out little more than a dark puddle nestled into the cushion.

A moment later, Crowley peeked his head up above the arm of the chair, tentative, tongue darting out to taste the air. But it was the gaze that struck Aziraphale, still the same golden yellow eyes he had first been stunned by in Eden, that he had adored ever since, that were still as bright and beautiful now.

“There you are.”

Aziraphale marked his place in the book before rising from his desk, approaching the armchair as if drawn by some ineffable force. Crowley’s tongue flickered again but, sensing no threat, he stayed still, waiting. Aziraphale’s arm rose, almost of its own accord, but he stopped just short of touching, unsure if it was the done thing to just go ahead and stroke the face of your best friend without even stopping to ask first. It was Crowley who settled the matter, gliding forward until his head rested in Aziraphale’s palm. A perfect fit.

Aziraphale beamed, a smile that seemed to glow, and stroked gentle fingers between the ridges of his eyes, and his hand was so wonderfully warm.

“My darling boy,” Aziraphale said on a breath, captivated by the feel of the smooth scales beneath the pads of his fingers, “you’re stunning.”

Crowley had never been more grateful that snakes couldn’t blush.

Feeling a little drunk on the unconcealed admiration directed so openly at him (and yearning for more), Crowley shifted the length of his body, looping up over one arm of the chair to leave the seat free in what could only be an invitation. But Aziraphale, clever as he was, sometimes required a less subtle approach. Crowley swayed his head – snake turned charmer – delighting in the tiny little temptation. “Sssit, angel.”

It took only a moment’s deliberation for Aziraphale to comply, plopping himself down on the vacant cushion, as ready to yield to Crowley’s wishes as (almost) always. Immediately he was seated, Crowley slid into Aziraphale’s lap, coiling his body snugly, then slipped up one arm, across his shoulders, and down the other side, letting his head come to rest atop one wonderfully plump thigh.

With the warmth from the sun above, the heat from Aziraphale’s body below, and the scent of the angel enveloping him, Crowley struggled to think of a time he’d ever been more comfortable, more content. He felt a pang of regret; so many years they could have enjoyed moments like this, if only they had allowed themselves to forget the rules they had felt compelled to adhere to, the fears that had held them back for so long. Now, however, now they had no one watching them, no need to hide or pretend. It felt… well. It felt _heavenly_.

There was just one thing that would make it perfect…

Lazily lifting his head, he pressed his snout into Aziraphale’s hand, gently nudging until the angel got the hint and his fingers resumed their earlier caress, warm and soothing.

A flick of Crowley's tail and Aziraphale received his reward, his book manifesting in his free hand.

“Oh!” His exclamation of surprise was full of delight. “Thank you, my dear!” He gave a little wiggle, settling them both further into the soft cushions, his fingers never ceasing their movement along Crowley’s scales.

It hadn’t been an entirely altruistic act, however, for so long as Aziraphale had a book in his hand, he wasn’t likely to move for several hours. And that suited Crowley just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Queen's 'I Was Born To Love You'.


End file.
